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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27484633">it's ok to not be ok</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/KateFraiser/pseuds/KateFraiser'>KateFraiser</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Depression, Family, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Love, Recovery</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 20:40:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>697</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27484633</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/KateFraiser/pseuds/KateFraiser</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Reader begins to slip into depression, and no matter how much Sam and Dean want to help, getting better has to be my choice.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>it's ok to not be ok</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Depression isn't a cliff. You don't just fall off and suddenly, boom, you're depressed. It's a shallow hill you trip and slide down without realizing until one day you're at the bottom of a valley can't get out of.</p><p>The first thing I noticed was the weight. My body just felt so damn heavy. My eyes lids and the corners of my mouth felt too heavy to lift into a smile, so instead, my resting face became tired and emotionless. That's when Sam and Dean started to notice.</p><p>"Hey, you think Y/N's doin' ok?" Dean whispered to his brother after I left the kitchen.</p><p>Sam looked like he was searching for the right words, but settled on a helpless shrug. They knew it, and I knew it. I wasn't ok.</p><p>That's when the self-harm started. It was little things at first, showers so hot they burned my skin, absent-mindedly picking at old scars or freckles I could fixate on, or on bad days, hitting myself in the stomach or on my thighs, like after one hunt that went wrong.</p><p>Sam was refilling a grave from what should've just been a salt and burn, but instead ended with Dean's dislocated shoulder and a hurt civilian. My salt rock shotgun jammed when Dean needed my help, and despite his efforts to assure me it wasn't my fault, I walked behind the Impala, pulling on my hair and hitting my hips and legs. Sadness, frustration, and anger boiled over into nothingness, and I spent the ride back to the bunker staring out the windows, not noticing Dean's concern in the mirror, or the looks he exchanged with his brother.</p><p>When we got back to the bunker, I went straight to my room and fell onto the bed. It felt like the time a normal person would cry, but instead, I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, feeling nothing at all. From the kitchen, I heard a harsh "damn it!" from what I assume was Sam popping Dean's shoulder back into place. I close my eyes and sit up, feeling empty, feeling tired. That's when the knife caught my eye.</p><p>My bag lay open on the floor by the closet, and without any sense of seriousness or shame, I stood up, walked over to my bag, and retrieved the knife. Sitting down on the bed, I held the knife against my wrist.</p><p><em>Is this what other people do when they feel like this?</em>  I wondered, examining the veins in your wrist. I'd already hit yourself, cutting is just the next step. Seems logical enough. Slowly, I pressed down onto my wrist and dragged, inhaling sharply and stopping right away.</p><p>"Jeez, that stings," I mutter, clasping my hand over the cut. It wasn't like in the movies. It wasn't easy and relieving, it hurt, dammit! For the briefest of seconds, I felt some sense of peace in the pain, but now all that remained was the stinging cut on my wrist and the same emptiness I'd felt before. </p><p>A lump formed in your throat before I put the knife down on the bed side table, looking at the thin sliver of red on your wrist. It wasn't even bleeding, and it still stung like a mother. </p><p>I don't want this.</p><p>I don't wanna do this. This isn't who I am.</p><p>Before my fear could object, I sat up and walked to the kitchen, feeling small and tired, but determined. The boys were sitting at the table drinking whiskey, and Dean turned around when he saw Sam notice me enter the room.</p><p>"Hey Y/N," Dean said gently, his kind eyes coaxing the truth out.</p><p>I stood in the middle of the kitchen looking down, feeling heavy, tired, and hopefully.</p><p>"I..." I gulped, looking up at the my boys. "I'm not ok."</p><p>My chest felt tight, but I felt so relieved as Sam and Dean got up from their chairs and walked towards me.</p><p>They wordlessly embraced me in a hug, squeezing me tight without saying a thing. For the first time in a long time, I felt a little less heavy, a little less hopeless, and a little less empty. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I relapsed today, boo, and thought i write a little fic about my experiences. If you're struggling with self-harm, I encourage you to reach out to a crisis hotline. They're anonymous, 24/7, and so helpful. Sending you all my love, my loves.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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